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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26482039">tomorrow yet may come</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/justromandaydreams/pseuds/justromandaydreams'>justromandaydreams</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Tennis RPF</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst, M/M, Sascha's speech HURT me, Someone give the baby giraffe a hug, US Open 2020</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-09-15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-09-15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 10:28:45</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Not Rated</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,216</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26482039</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/justromandaydreams/pseuds/justromandaydreams</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>“Sascha,” Dominic starts. “Look at me.” The German looks up at him, light green eyes filled with tears. “There will be other times. This is not the end."</p><p>Sascha laughs. It’s an ugly bitter thing. So unlike the bright, full throated sound Dominic was accustomed to. And it chills him to the bone.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Dominic Thiem/Alexander Zverev</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>5</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>55</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>tomorrow yet may come</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Dominic should really be back in his room. Or out celebrating his title. He <em>had</em> gone back to his room briefly, but after watching Sascha’s press conference in which the young German veritably radiated self-disgust, Dominic couldn’t ignore the urge to go check on him. So here he is, standing outside Sascha’s hotel room. The Austrian shifts anxiously from foot to foot before finally rapping lightly on the door. It’s only a few moments later when Sascha opens the door. And <em>oh</em>. If he isn’t the most heartbreaking sight Dominic’s ever seen.</p><p>The German is dressed in an oversized zip up sweatshirt and equal baggy pants, the combination only accentuating his skinny frame. Sascha’s eyes are red rimmed behind his glasses frames and his hair looks like he’s been pulling on it. In short, if Dominic was honest, he looks a wreck.</p><p>“I-what? Dominic?”</p><p>Sascha is clearly confused, and slightly on guard. What he’s wary of Dominic isn’t sure of until Sascha expands.</p><p>“I’m err-I’m not really in the mood tonight.” He stares at the ground, hands tucked into his pockets and shoulders hunched. “I know you probably want to celebrate. And I’m sorry. I ju-“</p><p>“Sascha. Stop.”</p><p>Dominic cuts him off immediately, heart twisting when he realizes that Sascha thought he was just there for sex.</p><p>“I’m not here because I want to sleep with you.” He reaches out a gentle head towards the heart broken German but refrains from touching, too scared Sascha might shatter in front of his eyes.</p><p>Sascha laughs. It’s an ugly bitter thing. So unlike the bright, full throated sound Dominic was accustomed to. It chills him to the bone.</p><p>“I don’t blame you,” Sacha says turning his back on Dominic. “Nobody finds a failure attractive.” He goes and sits on the bed, head cradled in his hands, reminiscent of the state of paralysis he’d been in immediately after the match.</p><p>After Sascha’s tearjerker of a speech, Dominic was concerned, too put it lightly. He hadn’t seen Sacha look this disheartened since Wimbledon last year when the German had revealed that his self-confidence was at an all-time low. He couldn’t let Sascha sink to that scary place again. Couldn’t let that tortured mind of his eat him alive. Because Dominic isn’t sure if Sascha can pull himself from such a low again. He prays with every fiber in his feeling that Sascha has a decent run at Roland Garros. A few decent wins under his belt would do Sascha wonders. Dominic follows Sascha to the bed and stands in front of the slumped German, taking both of Sascha’s wrists in his hands in a gentle but firm grip.</p><p>“Sascha” Dominic starts. “Look at me.” The German looks up at him, light green eyes filled with tears. “There will be other times. This isn’t the end. Not even close. And making the final is already an accomplishment.”</p><p>Sash sniffles and pulls his hands away in order to push himself up against the pillows at the head of his bed.</p><p>“Yeah but it’s not a win is it. That’s all that matters.” Sascha awkwardly arranges his gangly limbs, pulling his knees up to his chest. A terrible attempt at making himself smaller. “God they must be so disappointed” His voice trembles, then finally breaks on the last word, and he buries his head in his knees.</p><p>Dominic sighs and moves onto the bed to sit across from the balled-up Sacha. “Well I know for a fact Mischa’s not,” Dominic says. “Have you seen his Instagram post?” Dominic pulls out his phone and shows Sascha the picture. “Does that seem upset to you? Because he seems very proud to me.”</p><p>Sascha peaks up from where he’d been hiding his face and Dominic immediately notices the fresh tear stains. He wraps his arms around Sascha, pulling him tight against his chest. “It’s okay to cry.” He catches Sascha’s hand as he tries to roughly wipe away tears. “Just let it all out. Don’t let it eat you up inside.”</p><p>Sascha looks like he’s about to say something but instead lets out a little hiccup before embracing Dominic, burying his head in the Austrian’s shoulder.</p><p>Dominic cards a hand gently through Sascha’s messy mop of blonde hair, while the German sobs softly. Dominic knows the tears aren’t just because of the loss. Sascha was a supremely talented, passionate, hardworking player. But he was probably the most emotionally fragile on the tour. Sascha’s family and close friends were such an important part of what kept his confidence afloat. And here the German was, left to compete in the biggest match of his life and then deal with the aftermath nearly all alone. Sascha didn’t even have his coach with him. Or beloved Lövik. The weight of the expectations, of being named Roger’s heir apparent at such a young age, has clearly taken a toll on him. Sascha could project confident cockiness with the best of them. But Dominic knows just below the surface is a vulnerable, sensitive young man who wanted more than anything to make his family proud.</p><p>“I’m exhausted.”</p><p>Sascha finally pulls away from Dominic and flops back against the pillows. He closes his eyes and lets out a deep, <em>deep</em> sigh. “I just want to go to sleep and never wake up.”</p><p>Dominic looks at the German in alarm. “You don’t mean that.” It’s more of question than a statement.</p><p>Sascha shakes his head slightly. “At least I wouldn’t lose anymore.” His voice is low, dark. It scares Dominic.</p><p>Dominic lays down next to Sascha. After a moment of silence, he tilts Sascha’s head towards him. “Your time will come Sash.” He presses his forehead against the German’s. “You trust me, right?”</p><p>Sascha nods. “Of course.”</p><p>“Then trust me on this. There will be better tomorrows.” Dominic presses a gentle kiss to Sascha’s lips before pulling away. “Now rest, OK?” He moves to get out of bed but Sascha reaches out to stop him.</p><p>“Can you-I mean-You can stay. If you want.”</p><p>Sascha’s grip is tight and eyes startling wide. Dominic can read the subtext. Sascha doesn’t want to be alone tonight. And to be honest, Dominic doesn’t exactly feel comfortable leaving him in this state. Not after the German’s latest admission.</p><p>“Of course, I’ll stay. Whatever you want.” He immediately climbs back in bed.</p><p>Sascha looks at him like he’s shocked Dominic agreed. “I fly out tomorrow morning,” he warns Dominic, while unzipping his sweatshirt and throwing it on top of his open suitcase. “I’ll be up early. I’d hate to wake you up.”</p><p>“Sash. I really don’t care.” Dominic says softly. “One early morning isn’t the end of the world.”</p><p>“Well. If you’re sure…” Sascha trails off when Dominic pulls the sheet up over his bare chest.</p><p>“Yes, I’m sure.” Dominic strips off his own shirt and tucks in next to Sascha. “Now budge over you little giraffe.” He gives Sascha a good-natured push causing the German to chuckle before obliging.</p><p>Sascha reaches up one of his long arms to turn out the lights. The darkness that falls is soothing and Dominic can feel himself drifting quickly off to sleep.</p><p>“Du bist besser als alles Meer” he whispers curling in towards the German</p><p>He’s asleep before he can hear Sascha’s reply.</p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>This is my first ever fic for the tennis fandom. It's not the best since I only wrote it in just one night, But that US Open final emotionally WRECKED me so I kind of have to post it. Any feedback is very much appreciated!</p></blockquote></div></div>
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